


Can You Feel My Heart Again

by IndigoNight



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Nightmares, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Tony is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight
Summary: Tony has a nightmare and over reacts. The bots worry. And Steve is very stubborn.





	Can You Feel My Heart Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rowantreeisme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowantreeisme/gifts).



> Written for Roawntreeisme as part of the Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange. 
> 
> Huge thanks to the mods for putting together this event, to everyone in the Discord chat who cheered me on, and as always to [BuckytheDucky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/BuckytheDucky) and [critter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsaer/pseuds/afearsomecritter) for being such great friends.
> 
> The first half is an alternate version of the Nightmare Scene from IM3.
> 
> Title taken from the song Come To Me by The Goo Goo Dolls.

Steve doesn’t sleep all that much anymore; thanks to the serum, he doesn’t have to. It had been useful during the war, when someone always had to be alert, on guard. It had sucked when he’d first come out of the ice, but had become an absolute nightmare in the months after the Battle of New York. At Fury’s request, he’d gone to D.C. to help SHIELD clean up the villains who’d been emboldened by the mess left behind by the Invasion; but in between missions it had just been endless hours of laying in the dark, staring up at the ceiling of a bland, SHIELD owned apartment that felt nothing like home and dwelling on all of the thoughts he managed not to focus on too hard during the day.

But things are different now, since Tony had come back from California, finished rebuilding the now rebranded  _ Avengers Tower _ , and badgered them all into moving into it. As it turns out, none of the team  - because they’re officially a team now, apparently - sleep all that much. If Steve were so inclined, he could get up and inevitably find someone to spar, or talk to, or watch a movie with; and even if there happened to be no one else awake, there’s always JARVIS who doesn’t sleep and is a surprisingly good conversationalist.

And then there’s Tony. Tony, who is somehow both infuriating and mesmerizing. Tony, who is never boring and almost never still and challenges Steve constantly which is in equal measures frustrating and a relief.

Steve had been living at the Tower for less than a week when yelling at Tony had somehow evolved into kissing him which had somehow evolved into fucking on every clean surface in Tony’s workshop… and the conference room… and on one memorable occasion, the elevator. After almost two months of fighting and fucking and not talking about it, Tony had abruptly shown up in Steve’s - nice, but mostly unnecessary - office, thrust a massive bouquet of flowers at him and said “dinner, tonight, seven o’clock. Wear a jacket. I’ll probably be late, sorry in advance,” and then stormed back out.

It had taken them until their fourth official date before they actually made it to a bed for sex. And since then Steve has ended up spending at least three nights a week in Tony’s bed - which is a pretty good ratio, considering the fact that he’s pretty sure  _ Tony  _ only spends three nights a week, on average, in his own bed.

But it’s a really nice bed, all things considered. Not too soft, like the bed back in D.C. had been, and dressed with sheets so ridiculously fancy that Steve had been a little bit afraid to touch them at first. It’s also massive, big enough to comfortably fit Steve’s overgrown body, plus Tony, and probably a couple of friends if they were ever inclined to invite anyone else to join them. The size of the bed doesn’t seem to matter though, because, as it turns out, Tony is a surprisingly clingy sleeper.

Usually.

But not tonight. Tonight Tony is curled up small on his side of the bed, hugging one of the over stuffed pillows against his chest with his back to Steve. Steve doesn’t mind, he’s been drifting comfortably in a half doze, his body still faintly tingly and pleasantly worn out from his and Tony’s pre-bedtime activities.

Until Tony whimpers.

It’s a small sound, coming from deep in Tony’s throat and barely filtering out between his tightly closed lips. It’s accompanied by a full bodied twitch, Tony’s hands clutching helplessly at the pillow and a shiver running all the way up Tony’s bared spine.

Steve is instantly yanked out of his half doze. He rolls onto his side, reaching for Tony before he can think it through. “Tony,” he calls, keeping his voice low but serious, hoping it’ll be enough to pull Tony out the nightmare. Tony just whimpers again, a helpless, terrified noise that sounds so terribly wrong coming from a mouth that’s usually spouting bluster and bravado. 

Steve’s fingers just brush Tony’s too hot skin when suddenly he’s grabbed by something cold and hard. Steve finds himself yanked back away from Tony, pinned down on his back by a hand on his wrist and another on his throat. Steve’s instinct is to fight back, to kick out against the figure hovering over him, but he blinks, bringing the blank faceplate of one of Tony’s suits comes into focus and he freezes instead. “Tony?” he calls. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off of the suit that’s pinning him down, but it isn’t doing anything besides holding him - even the gauntlet that’s pressing against his throat is nothing more than a firm pressure that barely inhibits his breathing. “Tony, wake up,” he pitches his voice louder and a little more urgent, though he still tries to keep a note of gentleness to it. Carefully Steve tests the armor’s grip on him, but the servos whir alarmingly and press down harder against him until his airway does start to constrict.

Steve doesn’t have time to be alarmed because Tony jerks up with a shout. He half falls out of the bed, arms out as he shouts “power down!” at the armor. Steve watches as the glowing light fades out from the faceplate’s ‘eyes’, but then Tony’s back on the bed, making a chopping motion that makes the pieces of the armor separate and scatter across the floor.

Steve sucks in a deep breath as the relief washes over him, rubbing automatically at his throat just to reassure himself that it’s no longer restricted. He sits up carefully, eyeing the armor to make sure that it’s deactivated before turning his attention back to Tony.

Tony’s is kneeling on the bed, so still Steve can’t be sure that he’s even breathing and looking alarmingly pale in the wash of blue light coming from his arc reactor. 

“Tony-” Steve tries, reaching out to him, wanting to pull him close and comfort him - which, in retrospect, is the same instinct that had gotten him into trouble in the first place.

“That, that isn’t supposed to happen,” Tony mutters. He pulls away, out of Steve’s reach, fumbling over the mussed sheets toward the deactivated armor. “Must’ve called it in my sleep.” He isn’t looking at Steve, and the pitch of his voice says he isn’t really even talking to Steve either. His shoulders are curled in defensively, and Steve can just barely see Tony’s hands shaking when he reaches out to pick up the helmet. “I’ll, I’ll just recalibrate the sensors. It won’t happen again.”

“Tony, it’s fine,” Steve says. He hates this, hates the way Tony pulls away and shuts himself off any time he feels the slightest bit vulnerable. He’s desperate to pull Tony into his arms, to kiss away the traces of tears trapped at the corners of Tony’s eyes and wrap him in blankets until the shaking stops. But Tony isn’t going to let him do that, he knows Tony won’t but he has to try anyway. “Just come back to bed, you can deal with it in the morning.”

Tony shakes his head, apparently trying to gather all of the pieces of the suit up into his arms at once - an impossible task. “You go back to sleep,” he says, still not looking at Steve as he picks up a piece of the hip mechanics and promptly drops it again for the third time. He makes a frustrated sound that’s almost a scream and drops all the pieces with a clatter. “JARVIS!” he yells and a second later all of the pieces light up and start flying out of the door on their own.

Steve shuffles awkwardly to the edge of the bed - for the first time resenting how large it is. “Wait-” he tries one more time, but he’s too late, Tony is already backing toward the door and well out of reach.

“I’m just, I’m gonna fix this,” Tony says, holding up his hands like he’s placating except it’s much more like he’s warding Steve off. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. Won’t happen again.” And then he’s gone, fleeing the penthouse after the floating pieces of his armor. 

Steve’s left kneeling on the edge of the bed staring after Tony’s retreating back. There’s a cold, hard weight in the pit of his stomach, and he catches himself unconsciously closing his empty hands into fists over and over again. On one level, he gets it; Tony has his reasons for being closed off and defensive. Steve hates it, but he knows that past experiences have given Tony plenty of justification for not letting people get close to him. In fact, based on what he’s heard, it’s kind of amazing that Tony’s even opened himself up to Steve as much as he has over the past couple of months.

Steve slumps back against the pillows, trying to convince himself to go back to sleep - or pretend to, anyway. Tony just needs a little space, he tells himself, some time to calm down. He and Tony can talk over a nice breakfast in the morning and smooth things out. It’ll be fine.

He lasts less than three minutes before he’s rolling out of bed and digging for some semi-decent clothing. A pair of sweatpants and a worn old t-shirt will do, but by the time he’s got those on the cold knot in his chest is too tight and too urgent to ignore any more.

JARVIS helpfully illuminates the way with low floor lights as Steve pads his way barefoot toward Tony’s workshop. He doesn’t run, even though he wants to, but he does speed down the stairwell three steps at a time. He can’t explain it, the chilled, unrelenting sense that he needs to get to Tony and he needs to do it  _ now _ . Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he should be leaving Tony alone after all, but there’s a pounding need in his chest to lay eyes on Tony. Just a look, visual confirmation that Tony is safe and… well, he knows Tony isn’t okay, but pulling himself together maybe? Then, if it’s what Tony wants, Steve can go back to bed and leave him be until morning.

He just has to check.

When he reaches the workshop all he can see at first is the hulking outlines of Tony’s bots. The usually bright lights of the workshop are turned off, but the workshop is never completely dark, scattered with a variety of smaller lights, some blinking, some pulsing, some blue or yellow or green. In between the hovering forms of the bots, Steve can just see Tony’s broad shoulders hunched over one of the back tables, a small desk lamp casting sharp shadows around him.

The door to the workshop opens silently without Steve having to type his code into the keypad - Steve shoots a grateful look and a thumbs up at JARVIS’ nearest camera and considers it a confirmation that coming after Tony was, in fact, the correct move. Or at least, JARVIS thinks so, and Steve has yet to witness JARVIS being wrong about anything, especially when it comes to Tony.

Steve fully intends to announce his presence - the last thing he wants to do is alarm Tony when it’s dark and they’re both already feeling so vulnerable. But as he steps over the threshold into the workshop his enhanced hearing catches Tony’s low muttering voice.

“Fucked it all up,” Tony says, his voice little more than a whisper but seeming to echo strangely in Steve’s ears as it floats across the open space between them. “Classic. Just when-” he cuts himself off with a harsh intake of breath and a clatter of metal on metal.

Dum-E, already practically pressed up against Tony’s back, whirs and extends his claw over Tony’s shoulder, presumably aiming for something on the desk in front of Tony, but Tony shoves the claw away with an irritated, “go the fuck away!”

That stops Steve short; Tony doesn’t talk to his bots like that. Sure, he swears at them, and tells them they’re useless, threatens to sell or deactivate them, and says all sorts of things that to an outsider definitely sounds mean and borderline abusive. Admittedly, Steve had had a period of horrified judgment when he’d realized that the bots are sentient and can understand what’s said around them, but before he’d come to understand. Because Tony doesn’t  _ mean _ any of the things he says to them, and granted, it’s a little twisted, but all his swearing and bluster actually passes for affection. And the bots  _ know _ that, which is why Butterfingers still picks fights with the fabrication units, and U is almost never where he’s supposed to be, and Dum-E delights in spraying everything with fire extinguisher foam with just the slightest provocation. 

Tony is never  _ actually  _ rude to his bots.

Steve has drifted across the expanse of the workshop without even fully realizing it. He pats Butterfingers and U absently as he passes them and only stops when he can see Tony - illuminated in profile by the desk lamp - and the desk in front of him. There’s a partially dissected gauntlet on the desk in front of Tony, but he isn’t working on it. Instead he’s just sitting there, shoulders hunched and both hands covering his face. And now that Steve’s close enough to see better, he can tell that Tony’s shoulders are shaking slightly, and his breath is short and hitching.

“Tony?” Steve says, very quietly. He’s still several feet away, well out of reach; he isn’t about to make the same mistake twice in one night by crowding Tony.

Tony jumps anyway, swearing and reflexively pressing a hand over the arc reactor in his chest as he snaps around to look at Steve. “Jesus Christ, warn a guy!” he snaps, “JARVIS you are so grounded!” But Tony’s eyes are too wide in the lamp light, his expression too vulnerable, but worst of all is how bloodshot and red rimmed his eyes look. Tony catches himself and looks away again before Steve can respond, turning his face away and fumbling with a screwdriver. “I thought you were asleep,” he mutters to the gauntlet.

“Uh, no, you  _ told _ me to go to sleep,” Steve corrects, aiming for a joke even though he isn’t in a very humorous mood. “And you know how bad I am at following orders.”

Tony snorts, but it’s a reflex and just as humorless as Steve’s joke. 

Steve sighs and dares to come closer. He doesn’t reach out to touch Tony - even though he desperately wants to - but he does come to stand beside Tony, turning to perch on the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms over his chest, and granted the workshop is kept significantly colder than the rest of the Tower, but Steve’s pretty sure that’s not why he feels so chilled. “You ran out on me,” he says quietly. He follows Tony’s lead and focuses on his own bare toes instead of trying to look at Tony beside him.

Tony stops fiddling uselessly with the screwdriver, going still and stiff. “Sorry,” he says quietly after a few beats of silence, “go ahead, yell it out.”

Steve blinks. “I’m not going to yell,” he says, surprise pitching his voice a little louder than he’d intended and he has to catch himself, purposefully lowering his voice again. “Why would I yell at you?”

Tony’s head jerks up and he makes an emphatic gesture that nearly sends everything on the desk flying. “My tech almost killed you!” he declares.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic,” he says - carelessly, in retrospect. “I’m fine, Tony, really. See, barely even bruised.” Steve leans down into the lamplight and pulls down the neck of his shirt to show his skin. But judging by the way Tony’s face scrunches up and the muscle in his jaw tics, that was apparently the wrong move; damn his peach-like skin. “It’ll be completely gone by morning. Really, this isn’t a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” Tony snaps. He shoves away from the desk, nearly toppling his chair over in his haste. He paces away from Steve, pushing past the cluster of worried bots to fidget with something on another table. 

“Why?” Steve presses, refusing to let it drop. He, too, pushes away from the desk, but he doesn’t follow Tony all the way over to the other work table. Tony doesn’t answer, his hands braced against the work table with his back to Steve. Dum-E nudges Steve’s shoulder, tilting his camera from Tony to Steve and back again, making a low whining noise. Steve forces a small smile for the bot and pats his support strut reassuringly - he has no idea if the bots can really ‘feel’ it when he pets them, or if they understand the sentiment the way a dog would, but he catches himself doing it all of the time, and he knows he’s not the only one.

Tony still doesn’t respond, and in the ringing silence that hangs over them Steve could swear he hears Tony sniffle; it breaks Steve’s heart.

“Tony, what were you dreaming about?” Steve asks softly. He gently nudges the bots out of the way so that he can close the distance between them. Tony tenses as Steve approaches - Steve is careful to telegraph his movements - but when Steve’s hands come to rest on Tony’s hips Tony doesn’t push him away.

“I don’t-” Tony starts and stops again, swallowing thickly, “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” Steve insists. He moves that little bit closer so that he can press his chest against Tony’s back, slowly sliding his hands around to encircle Tony’s waist. He bows his head enough to press a chaste kiss to the nape of Tony’s neck, desperate to drink in Tony’s warmth, the strength of Tony’s body against his own. 

Tony’s whole body shudders as he inhales, and after a moment he rocks back on his heels, leaning into Steve’s hold just a little. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Tony insists, but his voice has gone soft and petulant. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees. He spreads his fingers across Tony’s abdomen, relishing in the feeling of Tony’s abs and the way his stomach rises and falls with each breath. “We don’t have to talk about the dream. But we do need to talk about the rest of it.”

Tony groans, and Steve has a feeling he would thunk his head against the tabletop if Steve wasn’t holding him upright. “I hate talking,” he complains.

“Talking is literally your second favorite hobby,” Steve huffs a soft laugh as he contradicts Tony.

“Fine, I hate  _ feelings _ ,” Tony grouses, his voice going low and venomous on the word  _ feelings _ .

Steve hums in amused agreement. He tightens his arms around Tony; he can’t imagine anything better, right here, right now, than having Tony warm and safe against him. But Tony is still tense, his shoulders stiff and his face turned away from Steve. “Why don’t you come back to bed,” Steve suggests softly. “We can put off the feelings until morning. I’ll make you pancakes.”

Tony makes a sound, a sound that’s almost a snort except for how it’s choked and painful sounding. “How the hell is that going to make it better?” he asks, and his voice has a different kind of venom in it now. He twists in Steve’s grasp, managing to duck under Steve’s arm and move away from him.    


Steve blinks, nonplussed. “Pancakes are delicious,” he says, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. “And things are always better on a stomach full of delicious food?”

“You know, you really don’t have to do this,” Tony says. He’s weaving his way between the various work stations, picking up and discarding tools and trinkets at random. There’s a tight, restlessness to him, something that seems almost nervous, and Steve has the distinct sense that Tony is just making a point of avoiding looking at him. He also has a feeling that Tony is purposefully putting as much distance between them as possible.

“Do… what?” Steve asks helpless. 

“I mean, I get it, it’s best to keep this civil, you know, for the team,” Tony rambles. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal, really. I’ll, uh, I can go back to California for a few weeks, give you some space. And then we’ll just put this whole thing behind us.”

“Tony, what the hell are you talking about?” Steve asks, running out of patience and feeling entirely wrong footed. 

“The break up,” Tony says, waving a hand dismissively - like that’s something to dismiss, like it’s a waste of his time to have to say it out loud.

Steve chokes on his surprise, coughing a little. “What… What break up? You’re breaking up with me?”

Tony stops, blinking at Steve as though  _ Steve _ is being obtuse. “No, you’re breaking up with me.”

Steve frowns and tilts his head. “I don’t think I am,” he contradicts. It’s not funny, nothing about this is funny, but there’s a tiny smile tugging irresistibly at Steve’s lips, because really, what the hell? Tony is prone to dramatics, Steve knows that, and he can be a bit ridiculous about it, but really, this is just excessive. It’s so not funny, that it’s almost hilarious.

“Well there’s no point in drawing it out,” Tony huffs, throwing his hands up in the air. “I get it, you’re being, you know,  _ you  _ about it. Which I appreciate, I guess. But you can just say it, just get it out there. It’s over, we’re done. It was fun while it lasted.”

“Tony, I am not breaking up with you,” Steve insists. It’s becoming less funny and more annoying now. He starts winding his way between the work stations, chasing after Tony.

“Some of my tech just attacked you!” Tony snaps. “You should be running for the hills. Or New Jersey.”

“First of all, how dare you,” Steve jibes, rolling his eyes. “Secondly, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve tried to wake someone up from a nightmare and ended up with a weapon in my face. Shell shock doesn’t just start after the war is over, you know,” he adds, and it comes out a little bit more sharply than he’d intended, but in his defense, they’re approaching the wrong end of  _ too early in the morning _ and Tony is being unnecessarily ridiculous. 

“Okay, so it’s not this!” Tony snaps, gesticulating with something sharp looking that should definitely not be waved around carelessly. “I’ll… I’ll fuck up so badly that you can’t forgive it, or some of my tech will actually get you hurt, or… or you’ll just get  _ tired _ of me. Whatever! It’s only a matter of time, so let’s just… better to do it now.”

“Where is this coming from?” Steve asks, feeling mistified and completely off balance. Everything has been good, has been  _ great _ , and now he’s standing barefoot in the middle of the workshop at three AM while Tony rambles at him about doom and heartbreak.

“From reality, Steve!” Tony yells, throwing his hands up in the air as though  _ Steve _ is the one not making sense. “From every other relationship I’ve ever-” Tony cuts himself off so sharply that Steve is fairly certain Tony actually bit his own tongue. Most of the workshop lights are still turned off - or at least turned down to dim level - but there’s plenty of light for Steve to see how pale Tony looks, how dark the circles around his eyes are, and the way he’s swaying slightly on his feet.

Steve wonders, suddenly and with the force of a punch to the gut, how many nightmares Tony’s had that Steve that  _ didn’t _ wake Steve up.

Steve’s heart is throbbing painfully in his chest, and his arms are literally aching with the need pull Tony into his arms and hug him until he forgets every past pain that has lead them to this. Steve grits his teeth hard and shake his head.  “Fuck this!” he yells, matching Tony’s volume and tone as he throws his own hands up in the air. 

Tony recoils as though he’s been shot at, his eyes going wide. But he doesn’t move as Steve starts winding his way through the work stations toward him. With Tony’s wide eyes and defensive posturing, there has never been a more accurate time to use the cliché  _ deer caught in headlights _ , which gives Steve a mildly uncomfortable predatory sensation that he quickly pushes away.

“Tony Stark, you are impossible,” Steve declares, his voice low and almost a growl. “You are frustrating and brilliant, you’re challenging and generous, and I love you.” Steve comes to a stop directly in front of Tony, using his full height to loom over him as he stares down at Tony’s face; normally, despite physical size, it’s impossible to loom over Tony, the size of his personality enough to fill an entire room like even The Hulk doesn’t. But right now, Tony looks small, he looks broken open and vulnerable as he blinks up at Steve, his mouth opening and closing several times. Distantly, Steve thinks that rendering Tony Stark speechless probably belongs in some kind of record book, but now isn’t the time to tease Tony about it.

Steve softens. Very carefully he makes sure that every line of his body goes soft and gentle. He bends down just enough to bring their faces level and he reaches out to cup Tony’s face in both of his hands. Tony flinches, just slightly, still opening and closing his mouth wordlessly, but he doesn’t pull away. Steve smiles, he can’t resist it, just a small, crooked thing as he stares hard into Tony’s eyes. “I don’t want to break up with you,” he says quietly, gently, carefully enunciating every syllable. “I can’t see into the future, and I’m not going to make any promises that I’m not positive I can keep. But I will say this; I love you, and right now, I cannot possibly imagine  _ ever _ wanting to break up with you.” He lets his thumbs stroke gently over Tony’s cheekbones, catching the single fat tear that escapes the corner of Tony’s eye without comment. “Do you want to break up with me?” he asks softly, refusing to break eye contact even though Tony is blinking rapidly against his watering eyes.

“No,” Tony says almost immediately, his voice hoarse and cracking but firm around the word.

Steve’s smile widens. “Good,” he says. He kisses Tony, light and chaste, and really just a pitstop before he pulls Tony into a tight hug. Tony is stiff at first, still struggling internally, but then he folds and he’s clinging to Steve’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence. Steve relishes it; he keeps one hand on the back of Tony’s head while the other curls firmly around Tony’s waist, keeping their bodies held flushed together while Tony shakes and digs his fists into the back of Steve’s shirt. 

Neither of them saying anything for an immeasurable period of time, the room silent except for the whirring of the bots in the background and Tony’s choked off, nearly inaudible sniffles. Steve doesn’t care how wet his shoulder is getting, he just holds Tony tight, rubbing his back and pressing soft kisses into his hair until Tony’s shaking slowly subsides.

When Tony finally pulls his face away from Steve’s shoulder, he doesn’t go far - not that Steve had any intention of letting him. But he does lean back, balancing his weight against Steve’s arm around his waist with absolute trust. He lets go of Steve’s shirt with one hand, trying to surreptitiously swipe at his reddened nose and puffy eyes, which is pointless at this distance but Steve doesn’t call him on it. “You- You said the L-word,” Tony says as soon as he has himself back under control. He manages to make it sound accusatory, despite how rough his voice still sounds and how swollen his narrowed eyes are.

“I did,” Steve agrees patiently. “And I meant it. Do you want me to say it again?”

“You are-” Tony starts and stops. “I d- this is not- you just-” Steve doesn’t bother trying to guess what the end of any of the half dozen sentences Tony starts should be; reducing Tony Stark to speaking in fragments and gibberish though? That is  _ definitely _ some kind of record.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Steve says, cutting into Tony’s sputtering before he can hurt himself. He brings his hand back around to cup Tony’s face, letting the pads of his fingers draw slowly over the rough stubble on Tony’s cheek before tilting Tony’s jaw up to the perfect angle for a kiss.

“I do though,” Tony says, halting Steve’s forward lean. Tony’s still blinking a little too hard, and his jaw is set like he’s brace for a fight, but he’s serious and sincere, his pulse pounding beneath Steve’s thumb.

Steve feels his own pulse jump in response and his face breaks out into an uncontrollable grin. He has to kiss Tony after that, kiss him long and deep and passionate. Tony makes a needy sound low in his throat, his grip on Steve quickly shifting from desperate to demanding as he tries to pull Steve impossibly closer. 

They’re both breathless and flushed when they finally break the kiss. Steve realizes - distantly - that at some point his hands had found their way under the curve of Tony’s ass and half picked him up, lifting him so as to even out their heights. “Let’s go back to bed,” Steve says, and it isn’t really a suggestion. His chest feels light and yet too tight all at once, he can’t bare the thought of letting Tony go, of letting so much as an inch of space get between them. 

Tony grins, a familiar, livacious look that makes the heat in the pit of Steve’s stomach stir in a pavlovian response. But before Steve can get more than half a step toward the door something in Tony shifts; his smile dims and his gaze flicks back to the desk where Steve had originally found him. Steve sees it coming and with a sigh carefully sets Tony back on his feet. “I just… I need to fix this,” Tony says, and he doesn’t say the words out loud but there’s apology written all over his face.

“Of course,” Steve says, because he gets it, he really does. He pulls Tony in for one more kiss, lingering for an extra moment to savor it. “How about just a patch for now?” he suggests softly, tilting his head and stopping just short of batting his eyelashes.

Tony swallows hard, and Steve can’t quite tell if Tony is turned on or trying not to laugh - it might be both, and Steve is perfectly willing to accept that. “You drive a hard bargain, Rogers,” Tony teases, and Steve grins. 

“I learned from the best,” he retorts. He finds Tony’s hand, threading their fingers together and raising an eyebrow that dares Tony to say something about it. “Now let’s get to work.”

“You really don’t have to-”

Steve unrepentantly ignores Tony. He uses their intertwined hands to propel Tony back over to the desk and settles himself into the chair before lifting Tony into his lap. Tony lets out an indignant squawk, but he doesn’t pull away. “Oh, this isn’t distracting,” he complains, wiggling on Steve’s lap in a way that can only be vengeance. “This isn’t distracting at all.”

Steve muffles his laugh against Tony’s shoulder blade, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and spreading his hands across the smooth plane of Tony’s stomach. “Get to work, Stark,” he teases.

Tony huffs, but he twists around enough to demand another kiss from Steve. “Thank you,” he says quietly, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes as he says the words.

Steve smiles, loose and easy and relieved. “Any time,” he says, with all of the sincerity that he can muster.


End file.
